


Time To Say Goodbye...

by Lucky7



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:56:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky7/pseuds/Lucky7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all...<br/>Post S-5 finale. (POV Finch)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time To Say Goodbye...

He shouldn’t have come. This is simply rubbing salt into an open wound, aggravating the pain he already suffers….has suffered for a long time. Only this time, it’s adding an emotional pain, a different form of agony to the constant ache of old injuries.

Is this then the price he must pay for past transgressions? For bad decisions?  
So be it…

Shuffling further into the domed chamber, he wonders how long the weak lights in this abandoned station will continue to function. Never very bright anyway, the chamber seems darker than ever, so the illumination is not likely to last for long. Probably only until the generator fails completely - which by the dimming of those bulbs will be very soon!

He slowly circles around, careful to step around the piles of rubble that litter the floor, and lets his eyes roam the chamber. He takes in the destruction the explosion had caused...right before their subway car began barreling down the track. That area in particular looks like a bombed out shelter - which, in a way of course it is!

The arched ceilings have somehow remained intact…but he notes most of the art deco tiles have fallen off the walls, leaving ugly gaps in the overall design. Scars on a formerly unblemished skin. What a shame…!

Studying the few tiles still clinging tenuously to walls scarred and blackened with soot, he wonders what Grace would have thought of the architectural design of this abandoned station - when it was all still whole, that is. But that’s something he’ll never know; some things may ever remain a mystery.

Like, could she accept the shambles he’s made of his life? Their lives?

So long ago they had been putting together the puzzle pieces of their individual lives to form a combined picture of a future…their future. But then another explosion, a different explosion, had blown that image apart and all those carefully joined pieces became undone. That vision of their future was destroyed, destined to never be reformed in quite the same way.

“Quite a mess, Finch.”

He turns at the familiar whispery voice, not at all surprised that his employee – and friend – would share this last visit to their underground lair. In this personal journey to redemption, John Reese had played an integral part as the linchpin in their operations. The most critical one, holding together all the parts and elements that allowed them to function as a unit. Surely it’s only right he be here now…at the end.

“Yeah, well, cross me off the clean-up crew!” offers Shaw, leading Bear into the chamber. “This place is a lost cause. Lionel was thorough if nothing else.”

The detective follows the black garbed assassin out of the tunnel, dusting off his rumpled suit. A suit even more bedraggled than normal – if possible. “By your direction if you’ll recall! You said plant this along the tunnel…I assumed you’d want a big bang, ” he grouses back. “You got one!”  
Then glancing around, asks, “So where is Coca Puffs?”

“Right here…”

All eyes turn on the professionally suited female as she steps delicately around a broken cement block, adjusts her trendy glasses and smooths her hands over a skin tight mini-skirt. “My new uniform. Like it?” She pirouettes for their benefit. “I’m the new steno for the 9th District Court!“

Fusco lets his eyes meander over the attractive figure, showing his approval with a wolf-whistle - much to Root’s delight and Finch’s embarrassment. Reese only nods, visibly wincing at his partner’s response.

“Good grief! How do you even walk in those things?” asks Shaw, caressing Bear’s ear while staring pointedly at Root’s stylishly high Doracora’s.

“Very carefully, sweetie.”

“Great running gear, “ Reese deadpans. “Not much different than your boots. About the same heel height…”

“And so now Captain America is a fashion expert?” responds Shaw, turning on her assassin-in-arms. “The man who wears the same suit/shirt combo day in, day out, week in, week out, month in…?”

Finch listens to the familiar squabbling with mixed emotions. In the past, it had irritated him. Now it is so…so dear. But it’s time to end the game and put his left over pieces back in the box again. He sighs, then loudly clears his throat.

“Ah…hem!”

The conversation goes silent as four pairs of eyes – five, counting the dog – swivel toward him. He focuses on the group before him. His team. His people. Family…

Studying each face in turn, he wills his brain to catalog every feature, every treasured attribute: like John’s typical expression of concern, Shaw’s stoic blankness, and Fusco’s irritation - which is often so clearly written on his countenance! And then there is Root’s knowing smile. Even Bear is affectionately scrutinized...the special companion that protected him during those times his employee was not around to do so.

“Since we’re all here, I want to take this opportunity to thank you. Each of you,“ he begins, voice quavering more than he likes. “We fought the good fight.”

He turns slowly away from them to study once more the carnage of their former sanctuary. It’s yet another picture puzzle destroyed, this time with pieces not just separated but lost forever.

“Is it done now? I don’t know. I only know for us it’s over." He shakes his head, mentally tabulating the deaths that had occurred as a result of their fight with Samaritan. Slowly shuffling back around, he continues, "Now it’s time to say…”

Then stills.

He watches dust drift on unseen currents, shimmering as the larger particles float close to a dimming bulb. Ancient dust, left over from decades of vacancy; old dust brought in with his own activities. And new dust, created more recently by the blast that allowed their subway car to flee to safety.

It’s a dust concoction that coats everything, continues to cover everything. Ceiling, walls, floor. Silently he tracks the particles, settling even now on his suit. This is hard. So hard...

After several minutes, he finally breathes the last word into the dimming light, “…goodbye" ...and sighing deeply, leaves the chamber, retracing the single set of footprints in the dust.

 

  
[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/aswmbo/media/POI%20Art/POI/subway_zpsfrvagcim.jpg.html)

End


End file.
